A girls' trip to Aspen was exactly what Shay needed to forget about her toxic ex-boyfriend. She's got her girls, pristine slopes for skiing, and hot guys everywhere. Of course, her epic self-rediscovery goes completely to hell when a wild (and deliciously hot) skier knocks Shay on her ass . . . and war is declared. Kolton doesn't know what it is about Shay that makes him lose it. Not just his cool---although she does have an unholy gift for that---but his restraint. When anger gives way to explosive chemistry, they're both shaken with the intensity of it. But somewhere between lust and hate, Kolton and Shay realize they could have something real . . . if they don't kill each other first.

He
tosses me my anti-sexy helmet. “We should take another run before we head
down.”

I
catch it and shake my head, unsure I heard him right. “Sorry, we? Shouldn’t you be skiing with
your buddies? It’s bad enough you hijacked my lunch and I have to sit at a
table with you again tonight. Now you want to ski together? Thanks but no
thanks.”

He
lifts his arms over his head and stretches from side to side. A sliver of skin
peeks out below his jacket. “The guys called it quits early. Worried you can’t
keep up?”

As fucking if. The dude’s
obviously egging me on, but he snaps my self-control. Everything between us is
action, reaction. Spark and flame. What’s his deal, anyway? Why sit with me and
ski with me when we’re worse than cats and dogs? If he thinks firing me up
means he’s getting a replay of last night, he’s mistaken. Still, I need to beat
his ass on the slopes. “Fine. I’ll take that run. It’s about time I put you in
your place. But let’s be clear. We can have lunch and ski together, but there
will be no sex.” A teen walking by stops midstride and doubles over in a fit of
giggles.

“Everyone
is wise until he speaks,” I mumble, recalling my granddad’s words.

Kolton
straightens, a question passing across his face. “Are you Irish? My granddad
used to say that all the time. Along with, ‘Shut your mouth and eat your
dinner.’”

I
laugh, abrupt and maniacal, the sharp sound catching me off guard. The energy
shifts between us, like the first time I understood my Spanish teacher—the foreign
becoming familiar. I frown, unsure I want Kolton to feel familiar. “Yeah, I am.
The first curse I learned was feckin’arse, and I’d kind of like to use it
now.”

He
smiles to himself, as though we’re friends who would sit and talk and laugh
about our shared upbringing. Ruffled, I cram my helmet on, get geared up, and
try to stomp out of the lodge all look
out, buddy, but with the boots and Martian head, it’s a fail.

Skis
on and goggles down, we race to the lift. He arrives first, making like he’s
been waiting forever with a dramatic yawn. I roll my eyes and push past him.
The lift line is empty, so it’s just him and me on the four-person chair.

“Mind
not doing that?” he says partway up as I swing my skis.

The
chair sways in response, and I rock my legs harder. “This?”

His
olive skin grays. “Yeah. That.” He leans his elbows on the safety bar and
closes his eyes.

He
flexes his hands, and the poles dangling from his wrists knock around. “No. I’m
regretting getting on this chair with you.”

Such
a charmer.

A small-town girl at heart, Kelly Siskind moved from the city to open a cheese shopwith her husband in Northern Ontario. When she’s not neck deep in cheese or out hiking, you can find her, notepad in hand, scribbling down one of the many plot bunnies bouncing around in her head.

She laughs at her own jokes and has been known to eat her feelings—Gummy Bears heal all. She’s also an incurable romantic, devouring romance novels into the wee hours of the morning.